


A Matter of Time

by Cybra



Category: One Piece
Genre: Baratie Arc, Gen, Language, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 17:25:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cybra/pseuds/Cybra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a matter of time before the right ship sailed to the Baratie to take Sanji away.  If only the stupid eggplant would accept one of these offers to leave.  (Set before, during, and after the Baratie Arc.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Zeff

**Author's Note:**

> I just recently got into _One Piece_ and I am in love with Sanji and Luffy’s relationship. That and Sanji and Zeff’s. Going to write a bit for each of them centered around the Baratie arc.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** _One Piece_ belongs to Eiichiro Oda.

Zeff

The day Zeff found out that Sanji had been turning down offers to leave the restaurant to sail with various ship’s crews—merchant, pirate, Marine, all manner of groups, really—had been the least proudest day of his life.  Instead, he felt furious at the stupid eggplant.

How was he supposed to find All Blue for both of them if the little bastard never left the _Baratie_?

True, in the beginning it would’ve been foolish to allow Sanji to leave.  For the longest time, they’d been the floating restaurant’s entire staff.  Morning, noon, and night centered around keeping the ship floating and the meals coming.  They managed to acquire quite a formidable crew after a while, but the fact remained that they both were running on fumes by the end of the day even now.  Sanji flirted with customers—barely legal according to Zeff’s “no fraternizing with the customers” rule—but the young man never took a lady to bed with him.  No, Zeff had done a good job kicking some damn manners into the kid to treat women with respect.  All right, perhaps he’d gone a _tiny_ bit overboard, but at least the damn eggplant had gotten the message.

Not that he’d needed to worry though.  Sanji was far too busy to privately entertain a lady in his room.  Zeff knew that Sanji’s “hobbies” were sleeping and reading when possible.  Funny how popular a floating restaurant moored so close to the Grand Line could become in just ten years.  The little brat he’d saved was dedicated first and foremost to his craft and, while the former pirate would never say it to Sanji’s face, that dedication had rewarded him with the skills to be the second-best chef on East Blue.  (After Zeff himself, of course.  The former captain of the Cook Pirates had far more experience and had more tricks up his sleeve than the young pup.)  In short, any ship would be begging for the younger blond to set sail with them.  Especially anyone heading towards the Grand Line where a sea cook had to be at his most resourceful.

Which was why he found it so odd that it never seemed to happen despite constant proclamations that Sanji’s food was the best anyone had ever tasted.  God knew Zeff himself had had strong, proud men on their knees begging for him to leave the restaurant with them.                                 

Then one warm day not long after the lad turned sixteen Zeff went out on the upper deck to take a breather from the stifling hot kitchen and watch the water for a few minutes.  He saw Sanji step out for a smoke break on the lower deck, the young man gazing out at the sea just as he himself had been doing.  He wasn’t alone for long, the captain of a beautiful brig approaching him with hat in hand.  Zeff smirked.  He recognized that stance from the ones who’d approached _him_ in the past.

“Chef Sanji?”

The young blond turned to the man.  “Can I help you, Captain Jones?”

“I was hoping you’d reconsider my offer.”

Zeff scowled.  Reconsider?  It was more than obvious this man wanted Sanji to travel with his crew, and the older chef knew the brig had been heading to the Grand Line.  Did this request mean that Sanji had _turned down_ his dream?

Sanji leaned against the railing, taking a deep drag of his cigarette and releasing the smoke in a long stream out to sea and towards the Grand Line.  “Sorry but my answer’s still ‘no’.”

“May I ask why?” the captain pleaded. “If you’re concerned about the age difference between you and the crew, it’s not an issue.  Sure, they give crap to new blood, but you’ve clearly got lots of experience with life on the ocean.  Plus I know that they’d treat you with nothing but respect once they had one bite of your food.”

_‘Yes, little eggplant, tell us why you’re throwing away All Blue,’_ Zeff thought angrily.  If he’d had two perfectly good legs, he would’ve jumped down to the lower deck just to kick the blond idiot in the head.

Sanji didn’t look at Jones, instead keeping his gaze on the only mistress for him or Zeff: the ever-unpredictable ocean.  “I’ve got a debt to repay.”

“Maybe I could talk with the owner on your behalf then?”

“It’s not that kind of debt.”  Sanji took another deep drag of his cigarette to calm himself judging by that almost unnoticeable tremor in his usually rock-steady hands.  “I owe that shitty old man much more than I could ever repay in treasure or time.”

Pain in Zeff’s hands drew his attention to where he was white-knuckling the railing of the upper deck in rage.  Dammit.  They needed to get the stupid thing sanded again.  He examined his hands for a moment, satisfied when he found only minor scrapes.  Then he scowled down at the boy who’d made him lose his temper.

_‘That little idiot…!’_

Jones looked crestfallen.  “I understand.”

“If you want, I can give you a few recommendations.  There’s a couple of guys who’d love to get out of here.  Great chefs, too, but don’t tell them I said that.”

The captain brightened a little.  “I’d like that.  Thank you.”

“All right.”  Sanji puffed on his smoke.  “For starters, there’s…”

The list of names went in one ear and out the other as Zeff glared down at Sanji.  He knew the boy wanted to go.  On dozens of occasions, he’d seen the way the young chef would momentarily gaze in the Grand Line’s direction before turning the grocery boat towards the closest island to resupply their ever-busy kitchen.  He remembered the little brat full of piss and vinegar who’d had the gall to bite down on his leg when the Cook Pirates attacked his ship because he refused to die before seeing All Blue.

But now it seemed that Sanji was determined to do just that: to sacrifice everything including the ocean that both of them had been mocked for believing in to pay some debt that only existed in the boy’s mind.

_‘That little idiot!’_ Zeff mutely repeated to himself as the captain left to go find the chefs Sanji had named to taste their food and make a decision.

* * *

That night the fighting chefs of the _Baratie_ were a crew member lighter.  Zeff scowled at Sanji as his fingers deftly flicked the beads of the abacus to tally up the receipts for the day.

“Quit glaring at me, shit-geezer,” Sanji said without any venom. “I didn’t do anything wrong this time.”

“That’s for me decide, brat,” Zeff retorted.

The younger blond’s fingers snapped each bead into place with more force than necessary.  “Care to enlighten me on what the hell I did to piss you off?”

“Your very presence for starters.”

“Sorry, old man, but you’ve only got yourself to blame for that one.”

The problem was that Sanji was right. He _had_ created this situation by saving the boy’s life, sacrificing his own leg in the process.  He’d given up his life as a pirate so that some little brat who’d had the same dream as him could grow to become a fine chef and find All Blue when Zeff himself no longer could.

And, apparently, Sanji’s twisted mind had seen that as something he had to pay back by giving up everything in kind.

“Some days I wonder if it was even worth it.”

Sanji’s jaw gave an almost imperceptible twitch at the scathing remark.  Not that he wasn’t used to the trash talk.  The _Baratie_ was like a shark tank.  One sign of weakness, and the fighting chefs would pounce on it like chum.  Sanji, being the youngest even if he and Zeff had been there the longest, had to put up with most of it, especially after Zeff had officially named the young cook his sous chef two years ago.

Zeff himself was one of the people who talked trash to the boy.  He wasn’t a fatherly man by nature, still very much a pirate at heart.  However, he and Sanji had a sort of double language where genuine respect and care was hidden under vicious insults.  Yet they maintained an unspoken agreement to keep the rock largely where it belonged: in the past.  True, it might be referenced from time-to-time but the subject would be dropped as soon as it reared its ugly head.

Tonight, however, Zeff had broken that agreement.  If he wanted to be honest with himself, he’d broken it in a way that was entirely uncalled for.  Pissed at the kid he might be but basically stating his life would’ve been better off had he let Sanji drown was low even by the lowest of pirate standards.  He knew the kid had had horrible nightmares of Zeff leaving him to his watery grave for quite a while after they’d been rescued.

Sanji didn’t retaliate, instead continuing to total up the receipts.  That in itself made a hint of remorse gnaw away at the old pirate’s gut.  Focusing so intently on a task like that was one of Sanji’s tricks to hide how hurt he was by something.  Now that he thought about it, it was possible that Sanji still had that shitty nightmare on occasion and Zeff had basically confirmed it to be true.

Or did the young chef _agree_ with the idea that Zeff should’ve let him drown?  Was that it?  Was that why the idiot refused to leave the _Baratie_?  A life debt that couldn’t be repaid simply by saving his savior’s life but by making up for taking the life Zeff _could have_ lived by ensuring his new dream of a restaurant on the ocean thrived?

It fit with Sanji’s at times downright warped way of thinking, and Zeff took another sip of his drink in irritation.  Most people probably would’ve swigged it down in their frustration, but this stuff was too good to waste by chugging it.

The only sounds in the dining room were the clicking of abacus beads and the periodic scratch of pen on paper as Sanji took notes.  Ordinarily, they would’ve discussed the day’s work while this was all going on, but Zeff decided he owed the kid some time to recover from the verbal blow neither of them had been fully prepared for by way of apology.  He’d never apologize aloud though.  That wasn’t how their relationship worked.

Some often-ignored part of him sneered that it wasn’t just the little eggplant’s way of thinking that was warped.

Mentally telling that part of himself where to shove that statement, he sat back in thought, periodically sipping at his drink.  Sanji—arguably the youngest sous chef on the East Blue—was doing an excellent job even if Zeff criticized him more often than not.  The last time he’d even acknowledged that the kid could cook well was when he’d put his peg leg down on his decision to make the boy sous chef, even admitting aloud in front of Sanji that he’d grown to become a fine chef.  It was two years since that day and neither had acknowledged that statement since then.  Zeff would critique Sanji’s work more harshly than anyone else’s, pointing out errors so minor that not even the most uptight of food critics would’ve noticed much less commented on.  Not to mention Sanji was handling very well the pressure of chefs constantly circling him for a chance to take over his position along with all the stress involved with running a restaurant and ship, particularly on the days when Zeff himself couldn’t get out of bed.  Still, everyone had their breaking point where they’d throw in the towel.

Perhaps that’s what Sanji really needed: To be pushed to the point where he simply couldn’t take it anymore.

Sanji scratched down a few final notes before circling a number.  “We came out green today,” he said simply.

“Good.  Skim off the extra to put in savings.”

“I know the routine by now, you shitty old man.”

Zeff gave a grunt of annoyance but simply stood up as Sanji’s abacus beads made a few clicks as he worked out the exact amount that would be squirreled away for days when the seas were too rough to attract many customers.  “I’m heading to bed.  Get started on some roasts for tomorrow.”

“Fine.  Not like I needed the sleep anyway.”

Zeff ignored the acidic tone of voice and headed up the spiraling stairs through the kitchen and to the upper deck where the cooks slept.  Giving Sanji a little extra work might’ve seemed cruel to most people, but working him to the point where he dropped off to sleep without dreams would be a mercy.  It was likely the old nightmares would be back that night given what had been said.

He settled back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling of his private cabin.  Tomorrow he’d start pushing the boy until he reached his limit.  Sanji was young, so it shouldn’t take too long.  Most youngsters weren’t willing to tough things out if they didn’t have to.

Of course, Zeff knew that things were unlikely to be that easy with Sanji.  The kid’s stubbornly loyal attitude (to the point of absolute stupidity) would likely require an extra push to step off the deck of the _Baratie_ for good.

And three years later, he was proven right.


	2. Sanji

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place during the four days when Luffy is working as a chore boy on the _Baratie_. I guess you could call it a missing scene.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** _One Piece_ belongs to Eiichiro Oda.

Sanji

With no one else awake to see it, the young sous chef slumped in exhaustion at the dining room table, rubbing at his tired eyes in an effort to keep them focused long enough to make his way back upstairs to his quarters.  The clock on the wall chimed the hour of midnight.  He’d need to be awake in four hours to get in a little training before starting on the cooks’ breakfast so that they all could eat and begin preparations for the first customers of another busy day.

He went over his mental chore list, trying to scrape up the energy to care if anything had been missed.  What jobs he hadn’t delegated to the other cooks were mentally checked off one-by-one.  Receipts were done, the grocery list was completed, menu for next week was approved, a list of needed repairs for the ship had been drawn up, and so on and so forth.  Scratching out the last thing he had to do was nothing short of a relief.

He put his head down sideways on the table he was sitting at, staring out at the surrounding tables whose chairs had been flipped up onto their surfaces to make room for the brooms and mops that had cleaned up any lingering messes.  The tables themselves looked naked without their white tablecloths, and Sanji made a mental note to have one of the lower-ranking chefs get started on the laundry before they ran out of clean ones to cover them.

“Okay,” he mumbled to himself. “Come on, Sanji.  Just two decks to climb and you’re done.  You can do it.”

As he started to stand, his powerful legs trembled a bit, offering mute protest to having to support his weight even that much longer but still managing to do so.  Not an alien feeling at all due to periodically short-changing sleep to get extra work done which would ultimately cause his body to start coming apart at the seams.  On the days he felt ready to drop, he’d tuck himself away in a corner more frequently than normal to take brief naps, hunching himself into as small a space as possible to stay out of the way.  A handy trick the old geezer had originally taught him for when he had to stay up with something cooking overnight.  Not that he’d ever outright thanked Zeff for that knowledge, instead spitting out some snide remark about how it gave the former pirate more time to use him like a slave.

Some part of him wryly commented that if he was a slave, he had the Devil himself for a master.  Long hours, little sleep, and more and more vitriol spat at him day-in and day-out.  No, he changed his mind.  He wasn’t a slave.  A lot of slave owners treated their slaves _better_ if for no other reason than working them until they dropped was a poor investment.  Sanji was just in Hell.

He rejected the idea of leaving as soon as it ghosted across his consciousness.  He’d made his decision long ago:  He was staying in this restaurant until the old geezer died and after that he’d take it over.  He’d protect the secondhand dream of _Baratie_ until his dying breath.  He owed Zeff that much at the very least.

Fully pushing himself to his feet, he staggered to the stairway like a drunk despite not one drop of wine passing his lips.  Clutching the handrail as he climbed the steps, he focused on lifting each foot and using it to climb to the next step before repeating the process.  He’d done this same climb hundreds of thousands if not _millions_ of times.  He imagined that if he looked close enough that he could see grooves in the wood where he’d worn them down from each trip.

Reaching the kitchen deck, he gave it another sweep, cursing himself as he found a few stray cooking utensils.  He tried to recall whose workstation it was, giving up as his tired mind drew a blank.  Unsure if they’d been cleaned or not, he mechanically started washing them one by one.  He didn’t even have to think about it, his body long-familiar with the motions required.

He stared blearily into his own reflection in the large soup ladle that he cleaned last.  The distorted face that greeted him looked just as bone-tired as he felt.  It was a good thing none of the other chefs could see him right now.  They would’ve pounced on the opportunity to give him hell.

Well…give him _more_ hell.  A good portion of it was how the chefs showed each other any sort of affection and camaraderie but most of the chefs came from pirate ships whose crews were not above the idea of backstabbing crewmates to get ahead in life.  It was reflex to pounce on a moment’s weakness.  As the youngest despite his position on the crew, Sanji was automatically seen as at a disadvantage.  Any lapses in his defenses, and he might as well be throwing chum to hungry sharks.

Finishing his task despite his idling thoughts, he put the utensils on the drying rack before glancing wearily around the kitchen again.  Seeing nothing else out of place, he walked to the staircase and resumed his ascent to the upper deck.  Another long day was over.  All he needed to do now was—

“Oh hell no.”  Sanji rubbed his temples, trying to stop the headache threatening to form.  He then walked over and gave the figure snoring away in front of his bedroom door a kick.

The new chore boy yelped as he was sent flying.  Perhaps it was Sanji’s tired brain playing tricks on him, but it looked like the black-haired youth had literally bounced off the wall before landing on the floor.

Luffy whined, “What’d you do that for?”

“You were blocking my way, dumbass,” Sanji growled out, digging up as much indignant anger as he could muster to warn the other not to mess with him.

He turned to his door and fished his keys out of his pocket.  He’d learned from a young age that if he didn’t lock up his cabin, he could expect to find the results of some angered chef’s petty revenge when he retreated there for some rest.  True, any of the crew could break the door down if they really wanted to, but Zeff would’ve kicked the offender or offenders overboard for damaging the ship like that.  Doors weren’t cheap.

“Wait.  I thought you were already asleep.  The restaurant closed hours ago.”  A glance in the other’s direction showed that Luffy’s upper body was tilted to one side in what Sanji was quickly coming to recognize as his “I’m confused” pose.

“No, shithead, I was finishing up a few things,” Sanji said, unable to keep a note of weariness out of his voice this time.  He internally cussed at the weakness.

If Luffy had heard it, he didn’t comment on it, instead practically bouncing over to the young chef’s side.  “Oh, that explains why you didn’t answer when I knocked!”

“No shit.”  Sanji then eyed the chore boy.  “What were you doing sleeping out here anyway?”

“The other guys kicked me out of the main bunk room” was the cheerful reply. “Said they didn’t want to put up with me more than they had to.”

Which meant that they’d tossed him towards Sanji for the sous chef to deal with.  _Again._

Sanji beat his forehead against his now-unlocked door, suddenly wanting to do nothing more than cry in frustration.

“What’re you doing?”

“Trying to give myself brain damage so I can deal with this shit,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

“Oh, okay.”  And that toothy grin was back on the other’s face along with a carefree laugh that Sanji secretly envied Luffy for.

The chef’s head started hurting, so he leaned it back while taking a deep breath through his nose.  Damn, he needed a cigarette, but that meant he’d have to spend more time awake to smoke it.  Not a luxury he could afford with four AM creeping ever closer.  He needed at least _some_ sleep tonight.

Of course, the problem of Luffy remained.  He walked away from his door and headed to the large linen closet to retrieve a pillow and blankets, throwing them at the source of his current headache.

“You’re sleeping on the floor,” he snapped.

“Oh, okay.”

“Not out here!” Sanji snarled as Luffy dropped the pillow.  “You fucking idiot, everyone’ll trip on you while trying to go to the fucking bathroom!”  He opened the door to his cabin and pointed.  “Get in there.”

“Oooh, we’re gonna be bunkmates!  Cool!”  Picking up his pillow, Luffy trotted inside while Sanji debated hanging himself by his own tie.

No, if he did that, he’d break his own vow to protect the shitty geezer’s dream.  Fuck.

“Only for tonight,” Sanji grouched, shutting the door behind himself as he entered. “Tomorrow, those jackasses are going to have to sleep with you whether they like it or not.”

“So how come you have your own cabin?”

“I’m the sous chef.  Along with the geezer, I’ve been here the longest.  Now shut up and go to sleep.”

He removed his coat and hung it up before sliding the tie free of his neck.  He draped it almost reverently over his jacket.

“So you were the second member of the old guy’s crew?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“That’s cool.”  Sanji didn’t even have to look to see that broad grin as he removed his shoes and stowed them neatly to one side.  “Zoro was the second member of mine!”

“How nice,” he muttered absently, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt.  He was too tired to even think about completely changing clothes right now.

“So he’s my first mate like you’re the old man’s!”

“Lovely.  Now shut up and go to sleep.”

Sanji pulled back the covers and laid down, every part of his body sighing with relief as he felt his consciousness begin to slide towards another few hours’ of dreamless sleep.  One good thing about working from before sunup to long after sundown:  Not even your subconscious had the energy to come up with anything, especially not nightmares.

“’Course now you’re the fifth member of my crew!”

White-hot anger flared up and he rolled over to offer his best glare at the chore boy.  “For the last time, I am _not_ joining your crew!”

There was a loud bang on the wall and a demand to keep the noise down.  (As if the unseen hypocrite could talk with all the commotion he’d just made.)

Sanji scowled in the direction of the source for a moment before lowering his voice to a growl.  “I _am not_ and _will not_ ever be getting on your shitty ship.  Do you fucking get that?”

“Nope!”

The chef flopped over, clawing at his scalp in frustration.  “If you want a goddamn cook, there’s plenty of other fuckers on this ship for you to pick from.  Some of them would cut—would sell their souls to get away from this shitty restaurant.”

He hoped Luffy didn’t notice the hesitation there as he’d had to swallow back bile at what he’d nearly said:

_Some of them would cut off their own legs to get away from this shitty restaurant._

Like the old geezer had done.  Giving up everything just so a little brat who could barely cook could live.

Sanji blamed his exhausted and stressed state for the reason his eyes were prickling at the fresh onslaught of guilt.  It certainly wasn’t even partially because he was never leaving this shitty ship to go out and look for All Blue.  He’d buried that dream a long time ago and had moved on.

Zeff would’ve told him that he liked lying to himself a lot.

“I don’t want _any_ cook.  You’re the only one that will do.”

Sanji’s eyes widened and he looked in Luffy’s direction, a serious and determined look on the other’s face that was entirely out-of-place with everything Sanji knew about the young pirate captain.

“I want the best people for my crew,” Luffy told him. “After all, I’m going to be King of the Pirates.”

Maybe it was because he was so tired that Sanji believed the chore boy.  That one day he’d be reading about a new King of the Pirates and the accompanying picture would feature a goofy-looking guy in an old straw hat.

He sighed and lowered his hands to his sides.  “Can’t blame you for wanting the best, but you’re gonna have to settle for less in this case.  I’m not going with you, so stop asking.”

Really, the other guy’s persistence was both something to be admired and something to be really annoyed by.  Most captains had given up after one or two refusals.  Luffy, on the other hand, had kept counting him as a member of his crew in spite of each fierce denial of his request.

“I don’t want anyone else.  I want _you,”_ the chore boy repeated.

Sanji sighed, closing his eyes.  “Just go to sleep, Luffy.  We’ve got another long day tomorrow.”

If Luffy said anything else, it was lost as Sanji allowed himself to be pulled down into the emptiness of blissful dreamless sleep, the darkness taking on a hint of blue.


	3. Luffy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final installment of “A Matter of Time”. A missing scene from the end of the Baratie arc. Partially inspired by SybLaTorture’s [Hat Comfort](http://syblatortue.deviantart.com/art/Hat-Comfort-160722162).
> 
> **Disclaimer:** _One Piece_ belongs to Eiichiro Oda.

Luffy

Luffy watched as Sanji waved in the direction of the restaurant until it was completely out of sight.  At first it had been with a smile on his face but the captain’s concern was growing with each passing second.

Sanji didn’t stop crying.

Tear after tear kept falling, never slowing as they pulled farther and farther away from the _Baratie_.  A sob would periodically join the tears in the process.

In the back of his mind, Luffy knew they needed to focus on their destination and mission.  Nami was in trouble, and they had to retrieve her and the _Going Merry_.  It was very likely that another brutal battle was waiting for them when they reached Arlong Park.  However, the concerns that should’ve been first and foremost in his thoughts took a backseat to something few captains would’ve ranked as more important:

His nakama was crying, and Luffy didn’t know how to stop it.

He didn’t want to stop the tears for the obvious reason that there were more important things to focus on than leaving home.  No, he didn’t begrudge Sanji those tears at all.

It was because his nakama was in pain, and Luffy himself had inadvertently caused it.

The others had come along on this journey willingly despite initial protests.  By the end of the adventures they’d shared together, there’d been a close bond of camaraderie that had been impossible to deny.  Each had been willing by the end to follow the future Pirate King anywhere even if it was to Hell itself.  Gut instinct told Luffy that this adventure with Nami would be a similar case in the end.

Sanji, on the other hand, had dug in his heels, resisting every step of the way.  Even after their defeat of Don Kreig, Sanji had refused to bow to the inevitable until the cooks had put on a show rejecting the delicious soup he’d worked so hard on.  And even then, even _then_ he’d done so grudgingly.

So much so that Luffy had been wondering if Sanji would change his mind when he went to gather his things.

“I’m going to go see what’s ahead,” the chef said, bowing his head and turning away from the horizon the _Baratie_ had disappeared over. “To make sure we don’t run into anything.”

It was a pathetic excuse, but Luffy simply nodded.  Over the four days of working at the _Baratie_ , he’d learned just how much Sanji hated showing weakness.  The captain might not’ve been a genius, but even he could see why with the way the other cooks had constantly looked for an opening in Sanji’s defenses.  True, it’d been for the young cook’s own good to drive him off to go pursue his dream of All Blue, but it had instilled a constantly-vigilant, defensive loner mentality which Luffy knew wasn’t healthy.

After all, nakama should lean on each other when something was wrong.

Yosaku watched Sanji march to the bow before looking over at Luffy.  “Hey, are you sure this is a good idea?  He looks really upset.  Maybe we should turn back around and take him home.”

Luffy put one hand on top of his hat and pushed it slightly forward, lowering the brim over his eyes.  “No.  He can’t go back now.”

It was clear Yosaku didn’t understand judging by the look on his face.  However, Luffy knew that even with that tearful goodbye, Zeff would’ve never let Sanji set foot on the _Baratie_ again until he’d finished the quest for All Blue in either success or failure.  Little wonder why prying the chef away from the restaurant was so hard and why he was hurting so badly now:  Leaving meant burning his bridges back to everything he knew and loved.

As much as he hated to admit it even to just himself, Luffy knew that he was ultimately the one responsible for that pain.

He didn’t regret his choice of cook, not for an instant.  He hadn’t even knowingly tasted the man’s cooking when he’d picked Sanji out.  No, he’d known from the instant that Sanji served Gin that no other cook would do.  Because for a brief moment, the other man’s defenses had been down and showed Luffy his true character: a kind and generous young cook who’d never turn away a starving man even if that man was an enemy.

Even if Sanji hadn’t been sous chef, even if Sanji had been the _least_ experienced cook on the ship, Luffy would’ve picked him out because of that one small, seemingly-insignificant act.

“Can you manage things back here?” Luffy asked the bounty hunter.

“Huh?  Oh, uh, yeah.  Shouldn’t be too hard.  She sails really easy.”

Not surprising.  The _Shimashima Shopping_ had clearly been designed so that one person could pilot her without any trouble.  Luffy supposed that was what made her such a good supply ship.

He circled around to the bow and stopped, observing the young chef before making his approach.

There Sanji stood rigid, hands clenched at his sides as the wind tugged at his hair and clothing.  His tie had come free from his jacket and was waving as though an invisible hand was pulling Sanji forward to ensure the ship didn’t sail out from beneath him and leave him behind.  A strangled sob reached Luffy’s ears.

The chef was trying to piece himself back together, to put up his walls again.

Without thinking, Luffy removed his beloved straw hat and walked up behind the older teen, reaching up to place it on Sanji’s head.

The cook turned slightly, giving Luffy a full view of his one visible bloodshot eye.  Tears still fell, sliding down his cheek and dripping off his chin.

Then he hastily turned away, bringing up an arm to wipe at his eyes.  “Sorry, captain.  That was…”  He swallowed and reached up towards the hat.  “Sorry.”

“Leave it on.”

Sanji froze, fingers hovering just above the woven straw.  “But…it’s your—”

“Leave it on,” Luffy firmly repeated, his tone allowing for no argument.

His nakama was hurting, and he didn’t know how to fix it.  He just knew that when he felt down that having Shank’s straw hat had provided some comfort no matter how bad things were.  It was almost like having the older pirate’s hand on his head to assure him that everything was going to be okay.

He didn’t even know if wearing it would help the other young man.  It didn’t seem like Zeff was the touchy-feely type.  In retrospect, this might even make things worse since it could be something the chef was completely unused to.  Who knew how he’d react?

Still, Luffy had to try.

Sanji lowered his hand.  “Y-Yes, captain.”

The taller teen was trembling, and Luffy instinctively knew that while the hat helped, it wasn’t enough.  The cook was still trying to stand strong alone.  He had to show Sanji that he didn’t _have_ to put up a front anymore.  He had to show the blond that it was _okay_ to lean on someone else when he was weak and that his nakama wouldn’t judge him for it when he did.

The captain reached out and wrapped his arms around the cook’s waist, sliding up behind him so that his chest was flush with Sanji’s back.  He hugged him tightly though not _too_ tightly, just enough to prove to the chef that he wasn’t alone.

Sanji gave another choked sob, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.  Luffy didn’t let go, simply holding the cook and bringing his forehead forward to rest between the other’s thin shoulders.  He could feel the tension in every lithe muscle even through the suit.

The sobs came more frequently as more tears fell, and Luffy didn’t once let go.  He’d stay as long as the chef needed.  Somehow, this seemed like a long-time coming as if everything since Zeff sacrificed his leg had come to the surface all at once.

It reminded Luffy of the whirlpool he’d gotten stuck in when he first set sail.  He could feel himself being pulled down even as they stood on the very sturdy deck of the _Shimashima_.  The swirling emotions that had been suppressed for so long under that cool exterior and that easily-stoked anger were like a vortex of pain triggered by the agony of leaving everything Sanji loved behind.

As a devil fruit user, Luffy couldn’t swim, but he was determined not to let Sanji drown.

He wasn’t sure how long they stood there, but eventually Sanji’s sobs quieted and his body stopped trembling in Luffy’s grip.  Instead, he sagged back against his new captain as if the events of the day coupled with the surge of unbridled emotion had drained him.

“Sorry, captain.  It won’t happen again.”

Luffy grinned at Sanji’s back as he helped the other sit down, the chef’s normally sturdy sea legs shaking as though they were nothing more than the molded gelatin on the menu back at the restaurant.  Still, a little time and Sanji would be okay.  The rubber man had a feeling that that emotional outburst had been long overdue.  “It’s okay.”

Sanji turned around to sit and face him, looking slightly ridiculous wearing that straw hat with his suit and tie.  In spite of his puffy eyes and tear-stained face, there was a small but genuine smile there.  He raised his hand to put it on the straw hat.  “I should give you this back.”

“Nah, leave it on a bit longer.  It looks good on you!”

“You think so?”  There was a glint of mischief in that puffy blue eye.  “Maybe I should keep it then.”

“No way!  You’re just borrowing it!  Borrowing it, you get me?!”

In response, Sanji leaned his head back and laughed loud and long like he had when Luffy had pointed out that he was using a pear knife to skin an apple.  (He still didn’t know what was so funny about that…or why the other cooks had been so stunned by Sanji’s laughter for that matter.)

As the cook laughed, Luffy silently made a vow to never let anyone make his nakama— _any_ of his nakama—cry again.


End file.
